


Proximity

by basophils



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood, Friendship, He's all right though, Implied Feelings, M/M, Oikawa takes a tumble, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29934150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basophils/pseuds/basophils
Summary: Oikawa wants him close.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> A simple ficlet because (manga spoiler?) I read about future!Iwaizumi and suddenly needed this scene lol.
> 
> New to writing, please be kind!

Graduation is nearing and Oikawa has taken to running at night. Losing himself in the adrenaline is one way he copes, though choosing this path kind of defeats the purpose. He unconsciously slows as he approaches, eyes drawn to the glow of the second-floor window. The niggling seedling of doubt reawakens in his chest. He wonders if there are also volleyball team brochures strewn across his desk.

Maybe he should be thankful for the crack in the pavement that jolts him out of his pathetic reverie, except that his reaction is a split second late and he earns himself scratched palms and a bloodied knee. He takes a tentative step against the burgeoning ache when a voice calls out from behind.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi jogs up. He’s dressed casually with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, probably returning from a konbini. Concern is painted across his face, as well as puzzlement at finding a dirtied Oikawa outside his house. “Oi, what happened? You ok?”

“Just a fall,” Oikawa tries for nonchalance but winces as he turns.

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi says, and pushes him up the walkway.

Oikawa treks up the steps to Iwaizumi’s bedroom. The familiar space which previously filled him with warmth instead brings him disquiet. Memories of idle childhood days spent chattering about V.league matches and junior and high school nights spent analyzing their own plays have morphed into something unsettling. Lost in thought, Oikawa tries to follow Iwaizumi in but is shoved back with a towel to the face.

“Clean up,” Iwaizumi says.

When Oikawa finishes rinsing off his wound and dabbing his legs dry, he returns to say goodbye. He finds Iwaizumi in his room, surveying a spread of first aid supplies laid out on the sheets.

“Sit,” Iwaizumi instructs, not looking up.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow but complies. With the bed occupied, he pulls out the desk chair and sits. He watches as Iwaizumi plants himself on the floor in front of him and sets to dressing the wound. Oikawa observes with some surprise the fluidity and ease of his movements. Gently but assuredly, Iwaizumi covers the gash with ointment and gauze before wrapping the joint and securing the bandage in place.

“Thank you,” Oikawa murmurs.

But Iwaizumi makes no move to rise.

“I’ve been thinking,” Iwaizumi says, expression inscrutable.

Then, wordlessly, he brushes a thumb over Oikawa’s covered patella. A shiver shoots up Oikawa’s spine. In a night of unexpected events, this feels the most like new territory.

“You’re so stupid.”

Ok, not so new after all.

Except Iwaizumi’s hand is still gently cupping the back of his knee.

“Excuse me?” Oikawa says testily, though he’s less offended than his tone suggests.

Iwaizumi looks up at him, eyes searching for truth.

“I’ve seen you running past my house every night.”

Oikawa freezes. Scrambling for a plausible lie, he comes up empty.

“Don’t bother with an excuse,” Iwaizumi mutters. “You have something to say to me? Just say it.” The last three words are pushed through gritted teeth.

Oikawa takes a moment to swallow.

The path for him had been clear from the start, and so were the sacrifices he needed to make. He had given volleyball thousands of hours of labor and toil, sweat and tears, all for the love of the sport. And he did so willingly. But this, he was not ready to give up.

“You’re not going pro, are you,” he says quietly. It’s more a statement than a question.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Probably not. Is that what’s bothering you?”

Oikawa hangs his head and smiles wryly.

“It _is_ stupid, I know.”

Oikawa is not entitled to Iwaizumi’s time or companionship, he knows this. No matter their history, no matter how much he wants it. Still, he _wants_ it _._ He bites his lip and feels like a petulant child. Moisture drips onto his thighs.

“Don’t think you’re so much better than me, idiot.”

“…Huh?” Oikawa blinks away tears and Iwaizumi’s earnest face comes into focus.

“You’re gonna be a hotshot pro,” Iwaizumi continues. “Me?” He shrugs noncommittally. “Sure, I like volleyball. But not enough to go that route, I don’t think. But.” He punctuates the last word with a grin. “You’d better not think that just because you get famous playing for some rich team that you’re leaving me behind.”

Iwaizumi raises himself off the floor to stand over him. “I told you, when we meet again, I’m going to defeat you.”

Oikawa laughs, watery but brighter, at the ridiculousness of the premise. “How are you going to do that if you don’t play?”

“You think I can’t find a way?” He reaches out and offers Oikawa a grip, lifts him so they’re level. Oikawa sees steely determination in his eyes.

Oikawa wants so much to believe. In that moment, he doesn’t need to know the details. All he needs to do is believe in the words of the boy he’d been friends with his whole life.

Impulsively, Oikawa pulls their clasped hands to his chest and closes the distance between them. He buries his head in the curve of Iwaizumi’s neck and clutches his shoulder with his free hand. He exhales shakily. He can feel the heat of his skin, breathe in his familiar scent.

This is as intimate as they’ve ever been, Oikawa registers, but Iwaizumi doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps an arm around Oikawa’s waist, pressing them closer. Tension finally escapes Oikawa’s shoulders. He lets himself melt against him.

When they draw apart, Oikawa realizes their fingers are entwined. He looks at Iwaizumi and echoes his true smile. He doesn’t need to struggle for words this time. Simple honesty is enough between them. “I’ll miss you, Iwa-chan,” he says.

There’s more that he wants to say, but he waits for the other to first respond with what he hopes is a shared sentiment. What he hears makes his breath catch.

“You’ll always have me, Tooru,” he replies softly, sincerely.

And the seedling blooms with promise for the future.


End file.
